


Slugabed

by MiriamKenneath



Category: Original Work
Genre: Impregnation, Mpreg, Other, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13707963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/pseuds/MiriamKenneath
Summary: A lazy man has an unexpected erotic encounter with a strange creature that emerges one night from underneath his bed.





	Slugabed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fennui (paperweight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperweight/gifts).



You just can’t be bothered.

There’s nothing in the fridge worth eating. There’s nothing on the tele worth watching. Books? Ha ha ha!

You don’t have a job, and you don’t have any friends. You’re an only child, and both of your parents have been dead for years. Your aunts, uncles and cousins barely even remember you exist.

Nobody writes. The phone never rings. Even the bill collectors have called it quits.

An idiot is running – well, the ‘running’ part is entirely aspirational – your country’s government. And naturally she’s become, like, best mates with the worse idiots running all the other countries’ dysfunctional governments.

The climate is warming; sea levels are rising. Everything is going extinct. Soon there won’t be any tigers left in the wild. Or polar bears. And the white rhinos – they’re already numbered, aren’t they? You’re not sure.

But anyway.

The world is shite.

It’s all just shite. Pure and utter shite.

So you just can’t be bothered to get out of bed.

You haven’t been up all day, in fact, and now the sun is about to set.

You like your double bed with your expensive, top-of-the-line memory foam mattress very much. It’s where you feel safest. Happiest. Most comfortable. You’ve even got used to the sour smell of unwashed bedding, how the fabric has become stiff and yellow from your body’s sweat and oil and…other unmentionable byproducts of frequent self-abuse. If you’re honest, you may even like it. Combined with your 13.5 tog winter duvet, it almost feels like you’re sharing your bed with another person.

You’re not lonely. Really, you’re not! But sometimes, you will admit to yourself in weaker moments, you do enjoy imagining a companion to share your bed.

Or if not in your bed proper, then perhaps sitting in that chair in the corner of your bedroom farthest from the door.

You’ve a genuine talent for convincing yourself. As the light fades, the shadows seem to come alive. It’s not mere paranoia. You honest to goodness feel a presence nearby. It could be lying beside you, or sitting in the chair. It might even be right there beneath you, crouched hidden _under the bed_ —

Something tickles your ankle.

You jerk your leg away from the strange touch, and you definitely didn’t just squeal in surprise. Nope. That would have been terribly unmanly of you. And you are a man. Definitely.

Some… _thing_ touches your ankle for a second time.

Okay, that was _not_ your overactive imagination. That was real. You reach for your bedside lamp to switch it on, but in your haste the lamp tumbles from the nightstand, and the bulb shatters.

‘Bollocks!’ you curse as you lift your 13.5 tog duvet and crane your neck upwards off your pillow to try to see what it is that you felt.

You don’t see anything except your own naked body and, er, your own cock and balls. There’s nothing at all whatsoever between the bedding but you and…oh.

Oh.

 _Oh dear_.

There are…antennae. Or are they eyestalks? Tentacles? Whatever they are, there are four of them, two long ones on the top and two shorter ones on the bottom, and they are waving in the air, questing, seeking, and they are attached to the head of a creature that is rising slowly, slowly, eeeevvveeerrrr soooo slooooowly, up from beneath your bed.

It’s got both of your legs pinned against the mattress now, and it is monumentally heavy. Dead weight. You can’t even move your legs, let alone lift them to try to kick the creature away.

Slowly, slowly, eeeevvveeerrrr soooo slooooowly, it moves up your body, past your knees, your thighs, engulfing your groin, your waist, your chest. It’s become a bit hard to breathe. How damn big is this thing?! It covers your shoulders too and pins your arms. You try, but your hands are useless; you don’t have the leverage to push it off.

No one will hear you if you scream for help.

You try to push it off again. No dice…and then you realise something odd.

This…thing is rather pleasant to the touch. Rubbery and soft, yet resilient. Neither hot nor cold. Slick. And the smell is slightly acidic, vegetal, not the least unpleasant.

Actually, come to think of it, it reminds you of a woman’s—

Oh dear, indeed. You seem to be getting an erection.

The creature senses it. Slowly, slowly, eeeevvveeerrrr soooo slooooowly, its rubbery body seems to ripple and shift its position on your belly, and your erection finds an unexpected – yet welcome – aperture into which to insert itself.

That feels lovely. Better than your twice- or thrice-daily self-abuse. Whatever. The hell with it. It’s not like you had anything better to do.

You begin to thrust.

Your first orgasm is quick, more a release of tension than a consummation, but it relaxes you and eases any lingering doubts in your mind about the creature when it does not remove its weight from you.

Its antennae – or are they eyestalks? tentacles? – brush against your face with seeming tenderness, and before you know it you find yourself raining kisses at random on the creature’s slick, rubbery flesh. You can’t be certain, but you think its colouring is a warm, golden brown.

You’re still hard and still inside the creature. You wonder how many times you’re good for in a single session.

You decide that you’re going to find out. You allow your eyes to drift shut, the better to focus on your pleasure.

Sometime between the fifth, sixth, or seventh delicious, annihilating orgasm – you may have lost count – you feel a strange, jutting appendage extending from underneath the creature. It is wrist-thick and wet, and it wraps around your balls, squeezing them once before sliding lower. By that time, you’re so delirious, boneless with pleasure, that the appendage encounters no resistance whatsoever when it plunges deep into your arse.

And when it prods your prostate gland and begins to release its own seed, you roar and come yet again.

The impregnation takes all night.

When morning does arrive, the creature repairs to its hidden lair underneath your bed, and, for the first time in a long time, you decide to face the new day.

With a heartfelt groan, you sit up and rest your feet on the floor. Your legs are a bit unsteady, so you pause perched on the edge of your bed. Ah, you can feel it now. No, _them_. You rub your belly affectionately. First order of business is a visit to your fridge. You’ll be eating for well over a hundred now.

And you know they will grow _fast_.

 

* * *

_**-fin-** _


End file.
